Escape From Wolfenstein
Escape From Wolfenstein was a piece of short fiction by Ed Curtis, which covers the events of the Allied Soldier between Castle Wolfenstein (game) and Beyond Castle Wolfenstein. The story places the events of Castle Wolfenstein in August 17, 1943. Escape From Wolfenstein There it is...Switzerland! Just fifty more yards to the frontier and those dogs can howl all they want after that. Those miserable dogs! I haven't had a wink of sleep in the past four days because of those DOGS!! Hold it... Get hold of your self! Don't let those moon-cast shadows get the better of you. Of you? Now I'm talking to myself. That last grenade must have shook me up more than I thought. That last grenade. It seems like a lifetime ago that I got out of the Castle. How long ago was it? Lets see...the Schweinfurt raid was on the seventeenth, August seventeenth. Only last Tuesday. Just hit the ball-bearing plant on the swing back from the fighter factory, and the rest was home free. That is until you lose your engines and half your crew to fighters that were supposedly drawn south with the other formation. And then, slowly drifting down as you watch your B-17 hit the ground in a ball of flame. I was sure that they were going to shoot me until one of the officers recognized that I was a bombardier. All that I remember after that was one word which kept reoccurring in their conversation--Wolfenstein. Time seems to lose much of its meaning as the preliminary interrogation took place. "Tell us about the Norden bombsight and how it works!" "Don't be a fool, captain, you know that you will tell us everything before long." "Why make yourself suffer needlessly?" "Your fellow officers have already given us the information we need; all we ask of you is enough information to check what they have given for minor errors which may have occurred due to their conditions at the time." On and on, over and over with what appeared to be random interruptions. It got to the point that I wasn't sure anymore about my ability to hold out, when it happened. That night, a British commando, little more than a pile of rags after what he had gone through, slowly pushed a pistol, that he had somehow gotten, over in my direction. He knew that he was through, he insisted, and told me of the plans for an Operation Rheingold. I now had a duel sic mission; to keep my information from the Germans, and getting the plans out. More importantly, I now had the means to do at least the first half! I was being taken to the interrogation rooms again when the second miracle happened. As we passed another prisoner, who was being taken to the holding cells, my guard's attention was off me long enough for the pistol to do its work. The other prisoner, hit by a stray bullet, at first seemed dead. I don't know what made me check his body, but turning him over brought a small gasp from the otherwise lifeless corps. Coming slowly to consciousness, he held on, somehow, long enough to give me a possible escape route. From that point my escape became one battle after another, as I slowly worked my way down the building. Off the bodies of the common soldiers I scavenged bullets and grenades that cleared my way room by room. The chests that I opened helped even more as they provided me with a uniform, food, and other very useful items. Protected by a bullet-proof vest and in German uniform, my only bane proved to be the equally protected and unrelenting SS. I don't know how many times I ran from one room to the safety of another only to be pursued by those devils. Fanatical, they would walk right into a stream of bullets, trusting their vests and Adolf Hitler to protect them. Throw a grenade and duck around the corner. Before I got out of that death-trap, I had developed that response to anything...throw and duck. That, I'm sure, is why my head feels like something that was borrowed from some poor relation. And, that last one! If miracles come in threes, then that must surely have been the third. I'm still certain that I was closer to it, when it went off, than the SS officer. I don't remember much of what happened the next day or two, but it seems that I just kept going away from the dogs. It is even possible that the Germans, by heading towards the border, kept me from wandering aimlessly until they picked me up. Even with the way that I feel, the thought of the Germans making my escape possible brings a grin. Oh, well! I've rested enough, and the howling grows nearer. Time to check my pockets and go those last fifty yards. Lets see, wurst, schnaps, pistol, grenades, map, and...oh yes...the plan.